Let Her Go
by roshini-lal
Summary: After Rory discovers Logan cheated on her with Honor's friends, she seeks the comfort of alcohol at a local bar ... this is where she runs into somebody she thought she'd never seen again - Tristan. Will now be the right time for them to be together? Or are Rory's feelings for Logan too strong?
1. Chapter 1

**Let Her Go**

"I hate men." My back hit Paris' torturously tough couch, a loud groan escaping my lips. Paris sat beside me, her eyes drifting from me to her noodles and back again.

"That Huntzberger has some real nerve, real nerve … I have this urge to go give the boy a lecture on the link between sexually transmitted diseases and promiscuity." A small smile pulled at my lips at Paris' tone. Despite all, Paris had taken me back in and … she was trashing talking the one person I couldn't currently bare the sight of – Logan. "I'm sorry, you know …" Paris' posture turned completely. "I'm sorry about the whole editor thing and … I'm sorry about what he did to you, you didn't deserve that."

"Shall I tell you what you need?" Doyle strolled into the room, a towel thrown across his shoulders. He leaned in to give Paris a peck on the lips and I cringed inwardly … Logan had done that to me only a few hours before. "A night out … I know you don't party, Gilmore, but … I think you two need to get the hell out of this apartment, moping around won't help." Doyle's eyes scanned the extortionate amounts of takeout containers that soiled his living room carpet.

"As long as I have Ben and Jerry … I'll be fine," There was a pregnant pause before I continued. "Eventually."

"No, Doyle's right," Paris jumped off the couch suddenly, my body hurtling off it and onto the cold floor. "Oh sorry," I grunted in response, my body curling into a ball upon the tiled floorboards. Oddly enough, the floor was a lot comfier than the couch. "Rory, get up, we're going out." I stared back at Paris as if she were delusional. "Don't give me that look … we need to get some alcohol in your system."

"Paris, no, really-" Before I could even debate my case, Paris was dragging my limp body towards her bedroom. "Paris, I swear to God … let me go." Her hands were now wrapped firmly around my wrists like handcuffs.

"I have this really cute dress … it may be a little short on you," Paris practically threw me against the side of her bed as she rummaged through a tattered wardrobe. "My boobs are bigger so it might be a little loose too but-" Her voice cut off as she pulled out a piece of material that could barely be accounted as a garment of clothing. "We can throw a belt on it."

"Paris!" I yelled as her hands made their way to the hem of my shirt. "Get off! I'm not going anywhere and I, most definitely, am not wearing that!" The dress was a flirty crimson colour and tight … tight, tight. It screamed Louise and Madison, not Lorelai Leigh Gilmore.

Heck, it screamed _easy_.

"Rory, the aim of the game is to make him pine for you!" Paris' face lit up like a Christmas tree on the twenty fourth. "Show the spoiled brat what he's missing out on. You think he's the only one that can get shackled up with some chick?"

"You want me to get shackled up with a chick?" I quipped smartly, a light-hearted tone settling within my voice.

"No, but if you want to-"

"Paris!" I interrupted her before she could even expand on the topic.

"Okay, okay … look, listen, Logan is a jerk and you deserve better. Honestly, you've never been single. You've always jumped into these serious relationships: Dean, Jess, Logan. Have a little fun! Go a little crazy, find yourself a French man named Pierre, drown your sorrows in cosmos-"

"I tried the whole _no strings attached _business, remember?" I sighed, running my fingers through my now messy hair. "I'm a girlfriend girl, I have boyfriends … I'm not floosy."

"Be floosy, for one night!" Paris reached for my top again and I shoved her hand away. My defiance didn't seem to impact Paris because she began digging through her shoes; trying to find something that would match the dreaded dress I was being forced to wear. "Forget about him and enjoy yourself."

"I can't, this isn't me … dressing up, partying, getting crazy drunk-"

"Oh, please, you're having one crazy night, you're not turning into Elizabeth Taylor, lighten up!" The gears turned within my head as I contemplated the idea of having one – just one – night to have some careless excitement. Suddenly, my mind seemed to ignite with joy at the endless possibilities.

_People can live a hundred years without really living for a minute._

Maybe tonight wouldn't be a complete bust.

"Oh God." I groaned for the hundredth time, my hands tugging at the bottom of the dress. Due to the fact that Paris was a few inches shorter, so was my dress. My clothes were still residing in Logan's apartment and Paris' burlesque inspired dress was the only thing that seemed to fit me ... kind of. After a good ten minutes of nipping and tucking with pins, clips and belts, we had finally made the upper half of the dress stick to me. However, the bottom of the dress was another story. Every step or any kind of movement resulted in the dress shifting into a taboo position. God ... if Mom laid eyes on me now ...

"You look hot, I'm tempted to make out with you again." Paris replied simply, her eyes scanning the crowd of the fourth bar we had walked into tonight. This one was cramped and smelt dully of perspiration but, with a few shots of vodka working its way through my blood stream ... I wasn't as bothered by the stench as I should have been.

"Just get me a drink, Gellar." I slid past a few people to claim the one bar stool that was free. My feet seemed to let out a silent cry as I let them rest; wearing skyscraper heels was also out of character for me ... massively so. "Something strong, preferably!" I hollered at her as she dissolved into the mass crowd of dancing collegians.

I was going to regret this in the morning ...


	2. Chapter 2

"Doesn't this taste good? It tastes good!" Paris and I had decided to give the embarrassing two step dance a miss and had retired to trying out every drink on the bar's everlasting menu.

My alcohol intake was at an un-measurable level now and, it wasn't even eleven o'clock yet.

Paris' hair was now swinging against her shoulders crazily and her evening blouse was stained with something that vaguely resembled bright red lipstick which, neither of us was wearing. Me, on the contrary, I had let my frazzled hair loose and the sleeves on my dress had vacated to my lower biceps.

"Tastes ..." I took another sip of the fruity cocktail, letting the liquid rest on my tongue as if it were wine before swallowing. I let the taste flood my senses before passing any sort of judgement. "Like perfume." The after taste of the bright pink drink settled upon my tongue and the sudden urge to hurl overwhelmed my senses. "Oh God!" I covered my mouth with my hand as I darted towards the closest bathroom. I lurched off the bar stool and through the raging throngs of people. I aggressively pushed past groups as I spotted the bathroom door across the room, and thankfully, there was no line. With my sling back heels slipping off my feet, I stumbled forward - head first - towards the large oak door. A yelp escaped my lips as I lost control of my footing, my arms moving outwards to grab something that could keep me upright. I found nothing. My eyes closed, expecting pain to shoot through me as I landed on my face. But, there was no pain. There was no embarrassing Kodak moment.

But, there was Tristan DuGrey.

His toned arms wound around my waist, setting me onto my two feet stably.

"Mary?" He spun me around quickly, too quickly and queasiness enveloped me. My eyes bulged open and my cheeks became inflamed as blood rushed to them. "You don't look too great, Mare, come on." Tristan gripped me, his fingers curling around my wrist as he directed me outside.

Tristan walked me through a patio door which led to a little smoking quad outside. The night air was crisp and pungent and I inhaled deeply, letting the contaminated oxygen fill my lungs. The fresh - or somewhat fresh - air was good ... the lingering scent of tobacco and nicotine ... not so much. I yanked my hand out of Tristan's hold and ran towards a neighbouring bush. Without a care in the world, I bent over to empty my stomach of the excess alcohol I had drank and the greasy takeout food I indulged in. I wheezed and I heaved and surprisingly enough - if this night couldn't get any more surprising - Tristan held my hair back. His fingers were gently combing through my hair whilst his other hand rubbed at my back.

I was experiencing the unexpected.

Tristan waited patiently as I threw up, his lips pressed close to my ear as he murmured comforting nothings to me.

"I'm ... I'm ... sorry." I coughed out as the vomiting came to a halt. With the back of my hand I wiped my mouth in a lame attempt to compose myself. "Thank you for ... that."

Tristan didn't reply as I spoke to him. His blue eyes seemed to be boring into my soul as he looked me over a few times. His pupils moved from my feet, up my body, to my face before descending again. It was as if he was trying to drink me in, trying to memorize me again.

"Innocent, innocent little Mary," Tristan's voice taunted with a tinge of sing-songy humour. "I never thought I would see the day." He inched closer, his large palm settling against my slender hip. Our bodies were pressed up against one another, our natural heat intertwining. There was something about the gesture and mine and Tristan's proximity that had my heart pounding furiously. It wasn't a foreign feeling ... it was that feeling a person got before they were about to do something reckless. It was that sense of rebelliousness; adventure, spontaneity, impassivity. It was something which I had rarely experienced in my twenty-two years of life ... When I had first kissed Jess, falling back into Dean's arms, jumping off a scaffolding with the Life and Death Brigade and now ... with Tristan.

Back, when I was seventeen, I despised Tristan. He always seemed to threaten Dean, and, at the time, that bugged me. There was never a moment where Tristan failed to tease and taunt me and now - five years later - I could easily state that I had missed Tristan's banter, his ability to show up in the most unfortunate situations and his endless roll of innuendos. "I thought you were a Harvard girl, huh?" Tristan elbowed me jokingly. "Now you're at Yale, drinking, partying, wearing-" I blushed a beetroot red as Tristan bit his bottom lip. "Where is the virgin Mary I left behind?"

"Virgin Mary is just Mary now." I muttered softly under my breathe, recalling my first time with Dean. I guess I wasn't as quiet as I thought I was because Tristan's facial expression dropped suddenly.

The moonlight was shockingly vivid tonight and it seemed to be casting warm rays of light against Tristan's intrigued face. The white light focused on his dazzling features, accentuating the electric blue in his eyes and the protruding angle of his nose. He had aged since I had last seen him. There was no longer a playful, youthful glisten on his face; he seemed a lot more serious. It seemed as if military school had performed its purpose - it had reformed Hartford's notorious bad boy. Tristan now stood tall, taller than he had done a few years ago. His posture was strict and rigid and there were light lines around his mouth, probably a result of his constant frowning. However, despite all, Tristan still looked like ... Tristan. He was an oddly comforting face that I hadn't realised I had missed.

"You're so pretty, Tristan." I giggled, unable to find any other words to describe him by.

"And you, my darling, are also pretty ... and drunk," Tristan laughed a throaty laugh. His voice was husky and seemed to echo within the small space we occupied; it had shivers running through my spine. "Let me get you home."

As soon as the word home was mentioned, my mind conjured up an image of Logan's opulent apartment: his large bed, the silk comforter, the goose feather pillows. My arms suddenly ached for his. Not that it was much worth now but ... Logan was somebody who loved physical contact. After a long day at the library, being in Logan's arms whilst I fell asleep was the epitome of comfort: the beating of his heart, the slow rise and fall of his chest ... It was all stuff I was never going to experience again. And, then, my mind seemed to change its channel and began envisioning Paris and Doyle's place. The Gilmore gene within me groaned inwardly at the thought of having to open nine-hundred locks before getting inside. The Hayden gene in me, on the other hand, was still worried about the possibility of a run-in with the troublesome guys on the ground floor.

Logan's apartment and Paris' - neither of which I could refer to as home now.

"I don't have a home!" I raised my arms to the midnight blue sky. "Rory," My voice cracked as the tears began to well up in my eyes. "Rory Gilmore ... Does not have a home! Because I got kicked out of Paris' and then _he-" _

"Hey, hey, hey," Tristan interrupted me before I could continue. My knees gave way from underneath me as my body shook with sobs. Acting as my saviour for the second time tonight, Tristan placed his hands under my knees and pulled me into his arms, bridal style. Tristan didn't have any difficulty holding me in his arms and I noticed the hardness of his torso; his abs were bulging out of his black camisole. From the looks of it, military school had done Tristan some good."It's okay, Mare. It's okay." Tristan pat my hair down as he let me cry. "I'll take you back to my place, it's okay. Everything'll be all right."

Tristan's steps were soft and he ensured to move at a leisure-some pace as he walked; just in case I needed to throw up again.

"You know ... If I was wearing white, we would be man and wife!"

"I think it takes more than wearing white for us to be married, Rory." Tristan laughed as I slid my face into the crook between his neck and his shoulders. My eyelashes brushed against his skin lightly as I closed my eyes, my brain delving into a world of hyper reality and comfort. "Sweet dreams, darling, sweet dreams." His soothing voice was the last thing I heard before drifting into a barely present sleep.

I was still aware of the subtle left and right notion as Tristan walked. My body swayed rhythmically with his and I relished in the pleasant rocking feeling. I felt like a child being cradled in the arms of her guardian. And, that's what Tristan was tonight ... _my guardian. _I felt my body weight shift just as I heard the rattling on keys. Had Tristan carried me all the way back to his place? And, if he lived so close to campus, why hadn't I seen him before? My senses were on full alert now and any traces of tiredness slipped away from me.

"Mom?" Tristan tried to whisper-yell and I smiled against his flesh, acknowledged to him that I was, indeed, awake. He let out a chuckle as he maneuvered through the house. My face was pressed against Tristan's neck and I could feel his blood pulsating monotonously. My current position was so comfortable I had no will to move or fidget even though I was intrigued to take in the sights of Tristan's lavish home. "Mom!" Tristan called louder this time, his voice bouncing off the walls.

"In here, darling-" A woman - who I presume was Mrs DuGrey - called back in return. Her sentence was cut off when she took in the sight of Tristan and me. Even though I couldn't see her face, Mrs DuGrey's startled gasp was enough indication of her surprise. "Tristan!" She scolded, her voice coming closer. "We have guests," I could feel Tristan's mom's presence beside me and I tucked myself tighter into Tristan's body, not wanting full-frontal confrontation with somebody who remotely behaved anything like my Grandma or her DAR friends. "Take her upstairs this instant!"

"Mom, you remember Mary, right? My friend from Chilton?" I held in a chuckle ... Tristan had actually spoken about me to his parents? And referred to me as Mary? "I ran into her and she wasn't feeling too good so, I brought her home, is that okay? I didn't want her walking home at this hour either." Tristan's voice was dripping with sugar and I reminded myself to give him a congratulatory pat on the back (he was a real smooth talker)

_This day couldn't get any weirder ... _

"Oh, Leah!" Another woman gushed ... a very familiar woman, might I add, yet, I couldn't seem to pin point why her voice was so recognizable."You really have raised a respectable, chivalrous gentleman. You should be proud of him, helping a good friend of his in a time of need - it's what any well-mannered boy should be doing with his time. Nothing like my Logan, he just gallivants with a countless number of girls-"

"Mom!" That voice I could recognize anywhere. "Not here." Logan's voice chided his mother irritably.

Logan? Logan was here ... Logan Huntzberger was here. Right now. My alcohol buzz had started wearing off but now, my stomach was churning violently. It felt as if somebody had sucker punched me in the gut and I let my nails dig into Tristan's back as I whispered to him, "I think I'm going to be sick."

"Mom, I'm just going to let Mare settle into the guest room and I'll join you all for drinks in a moment." Before anybody could respond, Tristan was running me upstairs and to a bathroom.


	3. Chapter 3

_thank you for all of the support. __i love reading all of your reviews and your follows and favourites always make me smile. __i didn't think this story would get the sudden feedback that it has been receiving, so, thank you so much. __ ;)_

**Let Her Go - Chapter Three**

"So," I mumble as Tristan handed me some mouthwash. The electric blue liquid swam through my mouth before I violently spat it back out into the sink. You know the Huntzberger's?"

After spending an hour downstairs with Logan and his family, Tristan had come back upstairs to check on me. Now, with the alcohol fading out of my system, my head was beginning to pound frantically. After hearing of my troubles, Tristan hadn't gone back down to his over talkative guests. However, Shira's obnoxious titter was an indication that the Huntzberger's hadn't left yet.

"How did you know-" Tristan started. "You know Shira's kids, don't you?" Tristan's eyebrow cocked upwards with intrigue. I guess he wasn't as clueless as I remembered him being. "Logan and Honour?"

"I asked you first, bible boy." A gentle smile lifted my lips as the pet name slipped out. Tristan returned the gesture by sending me a million dollar smile of his own.

"Touché, Gilmore, touché." A loud roar of laugher erupted from downstairs and I couldn't help but subtly roll my eyes at the sound of Logan's happiness. It was petty, yes, but, I couldn't help but feel cynical in response to the heartbreak that Logan had made me feel. It didn't seem fair to me -  
Logan got to fool around with other girls, whilst in a relationship, and not bare any harsh consequences. I wanted him to feel what I was feeling: the heartache, the distress - the hangover. "Mitchum's college friends with my Dad. So, I've pretty much known Logan and Honour my whole life."

"Are you guys close?" Curiosity sparked within me and I couldn't help but want to know more about Tristan and Logan's relationship.

Why had I never heard of their acquaintance before? Logan and I had been together for over a year and Tristan and I had been friends for all most two. Despite all of this, the two had never mentioned one another.

It was bound to spark some sort of intrigue within me.

"What is this, twenty-one questions? No, now it's my turn." Tristan stroked the soft stubble on his cheek comically, as if he were in deep thought. I noticed the light blonde stubble on his chin and the added maturity it added to Tristan's whole persona. "How do you-" An extra large emphasis was placed on the word, you. "Know the Huntzberger's?"

"The Yale campus isn't as big as it may seem, DuGrey." I answered cryptically, not wanting to have a full frontal conversation about my circumstances with Logan. "You run into all kinds of people ..." I leaned a little forward from the seat I was currently occupying. Tristan did the same, probably hoping to snag some juicy gossip. He bit down his upper lip and I admired how attractive he looked in that one picture frame. There was no doubt in my mind that Tristan was a lady's man. Always was. Always will be. "Naked people." I whispered, reminiscing on the moment when I had first met Marty.

"Oh God," Tristan clutched his stomach as he laughed whole heartily. "Gilmore, you really are something!"

"My turn," I quickly jumped on the band wagon to ask Tristan another question, deep down, I was hoping the distraction would stop him from asking me any more questions about Logan, someone I didn't want to talk about right now. "What are you doing here? At Yale?"

"Ultimately, my mom moved out here for a little while to help with Honour's wedding," Tristan dove into a story, his eyes glazing over in deep concentration. "But you know what Hartford society is like, they all ask stupid questions and there were some rumours going around about my mom having an affair. Naturally, my dad wanted to put an end to them so we moved out here. Dad thought Yale would be good for me."

"So, what, you're a Yale collegiate now?"

"Yeah, I guess I am." Tristan grinned. "And, since I'm a crazy smart Yale kid now, I was able to catch onto the fact that you just asked me two questions thus-" Tristan lifted his head snootily as he lifted a pinky in the air; a fake British accent coating his words. "I am condemned to ask you two also, ol' chap."

My snicker over Tristan's appealing accent was cut off by a scream from downstairs.

"Tristan!" Mrs DuGrey's softly nasal voice hollered from downstairs. "Why don't you and your friend join us for a cup of coffee? Everybody's leaving soon." With an audible huff of rebelliousness, Tristan jumped off his spot on the floor, his hand extended for me to take and I looked at it cautiously.

I couldn't go downstairs, could I? Logan was downstairs. Shira - the she devil - was downstairs.

"Come on, Mare, I don't bite," Tristan smirked as I hesitated to take his hand. My mind was telling me to fake another wave of nausea but a more cynical side to me was encouraging me to go down and face Logan; do exactly what Paris had wanted - show Logan what he was missing, what he had let go. "Not unless you want me to."

Typical Tristan remark - he always made every serious situation into an innuendo. It definitely eased the tightness in my chest. It was nice to think of something a little less serious than stabbing Logan with a fork.

"I-"

"My mom is a little pretentious but she's not that bad." Tristan was trying to sound convincing but his face didn't mirror his words. I knew what it was like to experience a Hartford wife - Grandma - first hand and it wasn't always pretty. "Plus it's a free cup of coffee, what Gilmore turns that down, huh?"

After a few more seconds of skeptical thinking I did the extraordinary, I put my faith in Tristan DuGrey. And, the oh so tempting cup of steaming hot coffee that was awaiting me downstairs.

My name is Lorelai Leigh Gilmore ... and, I am a coffee addict.

"Let's go." With my hand wrapped in his, Tristan led me out of the room. It seemed physically impossible but my heart was beating even faster than it already was. If scientifically feasible, my heart was ready to fall through my lungs. Oddly though, Tristan's presence lessened my nerves.

"Ah, Tristan, darling!" Shira called - may I add, a little hyperbolically - as Tristan waltzed down the staircase. She immediately grabbed for his face; leaning in for a kiss, however, Tristan expertly dodged Shira's crimson lipstick. "So glad you could join us again. Do introduce us to your friend properly, Mary, was it?"

"Well, not exactly," My body was tucked skilfully behind Tristan's body but without my consent, Tristan stepped away from me. "This is Lorelai," I scoffed and Tristan corrected himself, a smirk easily evident upon his face. "This is Rory."

It felt like time had stopped. The air in the room had suddenly grown so thick, you could cut it straight through with a knife. An awkward silence loomed sullenly in the air as I shifted my gaze from the floor up to Logan's leisurely. His eyes pierced through me, swimming with an intense array of emotions. The most prominent emotion: surprise.

I took this moment to take him in. He was dressed casually in a pair of black plants and a soft blue button-down shirt. The shirt fit him perfectly, sculpting every curve and edge of his upper torso. He was a looker. And, that simple fact made me feel ten times worse. My heart still felt like he belonged to us ... Like he was still ours to claim, like he was still ours to take home and ravish.

He wasn't.

"Rory, dear!" Shira's voice trembled in surprise. Her face also mirrored her exasperated tone. Shira's red, perfectly plumped lips hung open; ready to catch a fly. "What a ... surprise!"

"Yeah," I mumbled back lamely, unsure of what to say. Shira had never liked me and vice versa. She had taken to humiliating me when I had first met her and since then, our relationship consisted of ... well, nothing.

"I didn't know you knew Tristan-" Before Shira could continue, my saviour - once again - interjected.

"Oh, me and Gilmore, we go way back!" With a casual click of his teeth, Tristan slung his buff and bulky arm across my shoulder. My unaccustomed body wasn't used to the excess weight and I stumbled forward clumsily. From the corner of my eye, I noticed Logan step forward to help me but Tristan beat him to it; his large hand encircling my waist. A scowl was now imprinted on Logan's face and he watched me carefully as if he were silently pleading for me to throw Tristan's arm off me.

I left it there.

"You do?" Shira questioned, her eyes tightening into slits in disbelief. Just like with Logan, she probably didn't deem me as a good enough person to even associate somebody like Tristan with.

"Yeah," My voice came out quiet but I cleared my throat cinematically before speaking again. I was building an unintentional momentum. "Tristan and I went to Chilton together." And, just to be spiteful. "We were thrown together quite often actually."

"Weren't you Tristan's Juliet?" For the first time, I noticed Tristan's burly father. He looked like a mean man: grey hair, large shoulders, Forester height. He stood tall and broad in a black work ensemble. He looked like a man who meant business I also noticed how Tristan seemed to subconsciously cower away from Mr DuGrey.

Tristan was frightened of him and it was safe to say, so was I. "That stupid play before he left for military school?"

"Wait, Rory was the girl that you were madly in love with in high school?" Logan jumped in as my eyes bulged out of my sockets.

Tristan was what with me in high school?

Logan's facial expression was grime and his eyes were unreadable; everybody turning to slowly stare down Tristan. With a blush that touched his blonde hair line and a gaze that refused to meet mine, I realised the truth behind Logan's words.

Tristan had really felt something for me back in high school. I wasn't just another girl he could toy with. Who knew? Tristan had actual, sentimental feelings towards me.

It was a lot to let sink in.

"Logan!" Tristan and Shira yelled simultaneously.

"You what?" My mouth opened and closed like a fish out of its element - out of water - I was out of oxygen. Today was an overwhelming day; a whirlwind of experiences that were making my stomach clench and unclench.

Honour's wedding, confrontation with Logan, rectifying my relationship with Paris, getting completely wasted, stumbling upon Tristan again, coming back to his house, seeing Logan, learning about Tristan's true feelings for me. It was all too much.

Queasily, I took a hold of the decadent bannister beside me. My fingers curled around the exquisitely carved wood in order to keep upright.

"I ..." Tristan rubbed the back of his buzz-cut head nervously. "Well, I ... Well you were different but ... you know, you were with Dean at the time and-"

"As in married Dean?" Logan asked, his hand absentmindedly strolling through his hair as he stared at me in disbelief. Logan only knew about a fraction of my relationship with Dean. I hadn't jumped into our high school history. All Logan knew was my first time was with Dean and Dean had been in a broken marriage.

"Farmer boy got married?" Tristan laughed. "Huh, would you look at that?" He was all most smug about the conversational topic and I resisted the urge to smack him around the head. But, as if he had had an epiphany, Tristan slowly rotated on the balls of his feet. He was now facing me completely. "You didn't marry him, did you?"

"Oh, oh, no. God no." I didn't intend to come out rude but it surely had. Dean was a good friend of mine - even after everything we had gone through - but, he just wasn't the guy for me. Dean wanted a house wife, somebody to wear frilly dresses and obey his every beck and call. That wasn't me. I wasn't that girl. I wanted a job and I wanted to travel and I wanted to learn more than how to make the perfect roast. All in all, I wasn't what Dean needed and vice versa. I still felt a pang of guilt for making such a mess of my situation with Dean. I loved him, I really did ... just not the way either of us wished. "Dean and I just weren't right for each other."

"You were inseparable for like three years, I thought you would have been." I internally groaned at the insinuation.

"Three years?" Logan's voice was quiet and soft but it was easily audible in the small hallway space we occupied. "Three years?" His voice was now louder. "Three years!" Logan was shouting now.

"Logan," Shira hissed, swatting his shirt covered bicep. "Not now, please-"

Ignoring his mother completely - like always - Logan turned to me. His gaze was intense - burning - and I felt my heartbeat race as his eyes darkened. He was angry and noticeably so.

"Rory," he sighed heavily, his eyes reflecting the amounts of pain and confusion he was currently experiencing. He didn't want to deal with his mom; he wanted to talk to me. "Can I see you outside, alone, please?"

"Logan, we are guests, it's rude to leave mid-"

"Stay out of this, mom, this has nothing to do with you-"

"Logan!" Shira covered her mouth as if her son's defiance wasn't a regular occurrence. "You will apologise to me, this instant. No boy should speak to an elder in such a manner. I raised you better-"

"You didn't raise me at all." Logan muttered it softly but I heard it loud and clear. He had made previous references to the many women - or nannies - that had raised him and Honour. Whilst Shira Huntzberger attended parties and held charity galas, nannies of all origins acted as mothers and fathers to the two wealthy heirs. It was something Logan and I never really discussed but the thought of not having a present motherly figure made my heart drop.

"Logan Huntzber-"

"Rory?" Logan yelled my name, screaming desperately to escape the dangerous claws of his society mother. In that moment, he looked so helpless and pathetic and sad ... I all most felt sorry for him. "Five minutes, please!"

"Fine," I grumbled unwillingly. "Excuse me." With a light bow of my head, I headed towards the front door, Logan following closely behind me.

Each step outside felt like an eternity. There was a breezy chill outside and my body quivered as a wave of wind hit my bare arms and legs. That was when I remembered what I was wearing and I blushed crazily. My hands scrambled to the hem of my dress and I pulled at it frantically. Whilst doing so, I hadn't noticed Logan's close proximity. He was standing right behind me and his hand took a firm hold of my wrist as he tried to stop me from pulling at the dress.

"You look beautiful, Ace," Logan practically growled into my ear. His warm breathe blew across my clammy skin and I shivered unintentionally. There was no denying that Logan always made my insides flutter.

"Don't touch me," I mumbled not so convincingly. However, Logan obeyed and dropped my wrist. He took this opportunity to grasp my upper arms and spin me around so that I was looking at him, face-to-face.

"Ace," Logan tried to take a step closer but I held my hand up to stop him. "I love you."

"That's just perfect, isn't it? You tell a girl you love her and she's running back into your arms," there was a lengthy pause and Logan let my words sink in. Back when I had said the three dreaded words, Logan had told me that he had said it to plenty women before me. He had said he never truly meant it. I guess I was another addition to that list of naive girls. "Or in your case, your bed."

"Don't be like that, Rory," I noticed the fact that Logan referred to me as Rory - something he rarely did. "I thought we were apart. I was lonely. Those girls meant nothing to me."

"They mean something to me though, Logan." I exaggerated the pronoun me. "It hurts knowing you ran to another when things got tough. It really hurts-" My voice grew raspy and I stopped talking to catch my breathe and clear my throat.

I wasn't going to cry. Not right now. I wasn't going to give Logan that satisfaction. "What if it were me, huh? What if I had spent our time apart with Colin or Finn or Robert-"

Before I could finish my sentence Logan interjected, his whole body moved to cover mine.

"No," He sighed, realising the double standards that were being held between us. My mind flickered back to Finn's birthday party; the night I had decided to give casual dating a try. Robert, one of Logan's friends, and I had gone to the party together and Logan hadn't liked it. And, that was just a date. He couldn't even contemplate what I had felt when I was forced to perform pleasantries with Honour's bridesmaids. "I don't even want to think about either of them touching you like I have: kissing you like I have, pleasing you like I have." Now, suddenly, ashamed of his actions, Logan glared at his shoes. "I'm sorry, Ace, I ... I didn't think-"

"You're sorry? Sorry for what Logan? Cheating on me?" I rolled my eyes. "Lying to me? Letting me walk straight into a room full of girls that you'd and I quote, fooled around with."

"I ... I didn't cheat on, believe me when I say that. We were apart but I wasn't aware of the consequences of my actions and I and that's what I am sorry for." Logan forcefully took my hand captive in his own. "And I didn't lie to you, I didn't tell you because I knew it would upset you ... I knew we'd end up like this."

"You lied to me, Logan. You lied right to my face!" I tried to hold my ground by sucking back the tears that threatened to fall from my eyelids.

"I didn't lie to you!" Logan was frustrated now. His hands had turned into small fists; reddening as he clenched them harder. "What about you, huh? And, Dean? I thought you just wrecked his marriage ... turns out you were serious about him. Three years? That's a long time to be screwing a married man."

"Screw you, Logan." With that, I took my leave; my sudden movement leaving a brisk of wind in my wake.


	4. Chapter 4

"Tristan, hey," I had ushered Tristan over to the foyer of his home. We were both currently standing toe-to-toe as I thanked him for his kindness tonight.

It was shocking yet utterly refreshing to witness a more mature Tristan DuGrey. "Thank you, for everything ... The pick me up, the aspirin, the coffee-" I chuckled at the large flask of caffeine and hot water that Tristan had prepared - specially - for me. "Just, thank you for being there when I needed you."

"No problem," Tristan seemed sheepishly shy as I complimented him. Tinges of crimson crept into his cheeks like thick vines on a gravestone and I gave him a small smile in return. "Are you sure you don't want me to drive you home?"

I shook my head - no - in reply.

As nice as it was for Tristan to offer, I knew he wasn't too keen on the existence of Paris Gellar and vice versa. Despite having a crush on him back in high school, Paris had realised that her and Tristan just weren't destined for romance. After going on a date or two they had given the dating game a miss and had returned to their award winning banter; it was safe to say neither of them had missed one another.

"I'm not sure if you're ready to handle a twenty one year old, Paris Gellar just yet." I tried to joke. "It takes five years of training and a government official licence before you're allowed anywhere near her."

"I still can't believe you and Paris are even on Yale campus!" Tristan exclaimed, his perfectly sculpted eyebrows lifting up into the creases of his forehead. "You two were always competing for that Harvard position and now you share an apart-"

"Mine and Paris' relationship is complicated," My shoulders shifted and then dropped. Honestly speaking, Paris and I had an odd friendship and the less you knew about its workings, the better. Paris and I could go from sisters to enemies within a spur of a moment. We were like the weather; warm one moment and then scorching hot the next. "But, Paris has a good heart and ... I really should check on her, make sure she's okay."

"At least let me call you a taxi," Tristan frantically turned his head to grab his bearings. He walked over to a drawer and pulled out a rather large local phone book. "Let me see." He spoke absentmindedly to himself as he flicked through endless pages of telephones numbers in order to find a taxi service.

"Tristan!" I lifted my tone of voice so that he would glance upwards. "I would prefer to walk, honestly. I think the fresh air will do me good."

And, I was being honest. After the night I had had, all I wanted to do was wall through soundless, empty streets alone. I wanted to be swallowed whole into a world of nothing, at least for a few minutes.

"Rory, it's late and you're a girl alone. I'm not letting you walk home, come on, I can deal with Paris but I won't be able to deal with myself if anything happens to you." Tristan quickly excused himself from his parents and grabbed a coat. I refrained from walking back into the living room; ultimately avoiding Logan and his prying gaze. I was mad. Mad at him. Mad at the world. Mad at the situation we has been thrust into. "I told my parents I was taking you home ... My mom is officially extending your visit and asking you to dinner next week."

"I would love to meet your Mom properly, but, really Tristan ... I can get home on my own-"

"Come on, Gilmore." Despite wanting some time alone, I knew Tristan wouldn't let me out on my own, not at this hour. The Granddad clock in the hallway was a clear indication of how time had slipped away; the gold rimmed arms inching towards one am. Like usual, the Yale campus was bubbling with an unexpected character at this godly hour. Party-goers were all on their way home: girls stumbling out of bars in heels, guys blowing their guts out into bushes, greasy restaurants open to provide hangover cures. The atmosphere was so unlike Stars Hollow yet so similar to home. A light breeze trembled through the air, carrying the scent of my coffee up to my nostrils. After taking a large intake of fresh oxygen, a lowered my lips to the flask and sipped on the perfectly prepared coffee. "I remembered, black, three sugars - just how you like it."

"Wait ... what?" I stopped walking, my baby blues bulging from their sockets as I stared back at Tristan in disbelief. From my recollection, there had never been a time when Tristan and I had discussed my caffeine preferences. Ever. Tristan and I's relationship had only consisted of the torturous walks through the Chilton hallways and the equally as disastrous projects we were forced into on weekends; the odd party also. "How? How do you remember that?"

"I was trying to rally Dean up," Tristan's eyes glazed over as he thought back to the distinct moment that had imprinted itself in his mind. It was an odd memory, not of much significance but weirdly, Tristan could always recall it - clear as day. It was the day he had realised he had true feelings towards Rory; scary feelings, feelings he had never experienced before. It was also the day before he was ripped from Hartford society and thrust into a world of grueling army workouts and nit-picking generals. "We were rehearsing for that silly Romeo and Juliet adaptation and you didn't want Dean to find out about our kiss," I nodded, vaguely remembering the awkward encounter between Tristan and Dean. "Paris had us locked up in that place-"

"Miss Patty's."

"Yeah, Paris had us locked up in Miss Patty's for what felt like an eternity and you grew really jittery later on in the day. At first I thought it was because Dean and I were going to be in the same room but, you were still a little panicked when he left. I was intrigued by your paranoia and I just ... watched you, I guess." Tristan watched me warily, as if I were a piece of china that was seconds away from collapsing into a puddle of a million pieces. His grey-blue eyes scanned over my face, urging me to question him.

"Watched me?"

"Not in the creepy kind of way, not in the-" Tristan tried his hardest to distort his face into serial-killer-eqsue onne which only earned a light chuckle from me. It was safe to say Tristan was going to pick theatrical arts as his major next year. His face - thankfully - returned to normal as my laughter died down. "I'm watching you kind of ... more like, I noticed you ... I noticed the little things about you - the way you take your coffee, the average amounts of times you call your Mom everyday, the way your hair colour changes in the sun, your tendency to ramble on and on when you're nervous-"

My heart hammered from within my chest as Tristan continued to notice things about me that I didn't even seem to notice. It baffled me to even consider the fact that Tristan had been so attentive back in high school. It was unlike anybody she had ever met before. Rory had had three major relationships: Dean, Jess and Logan ... neither of whom had been so watchful. It was so unlike him, Tristan. Tristan DuGrey was notorious for his bad boy, pants hanging low reputation. He had been pulled out of school for stealing from one of his friends' homes and he had been the talk of society for months to follow, never had I pictured him to be the guy that he was unfolding as being. Deep down, he was a compassionate, wholesome, caring kind of guy that had spent his whole life trying to maintain a facade ... not a lifestyle. It was funny, I had learnt more about Tristan tonight than I ever had before.

For the first time, I was noticing the highlights of caramel highlights on the crown of his head; the depth of stormy grey in his ocean eyes, a gentle tinge of red on his lips, creases etched into his forehead (probably from all the frowning) For the first time, I was noticing Tristan in a new light ... a different light ... a light that I could probably grow used to. "Rory ... Rory ... Rory!"

"Huh, what?" I shook my head, snapping out of my train of thought suddenly. Tristan's voice was like a bucket of cold water to my mind and I blinked rapidly, trying to gain awareness of my surroundings once again.

"I asked you a question," There was a pause as I signaled for Tristan to ask me the question again. "Left or right?" That's when I realised we were standing at a crossroad: left leading towards Logan's apartment and right towards Paris'.

I laughed cynically at myself, what were the odds?

"Right," I nodded after moments of silence. "Turn right." With a hand nestled comfortably underneath my arm, Tristan leisurely walked me back to the dormitory buildings. We lapsed into a comfortable silence, neither of us wanting to interrupt the serenity that had been blanketed upon us. As we approached my building of residence, I slowed down my pace, strangely not wanting to let Tristan leave just yet. A voice inside my head nagged me to invite him in ... another voice contradicted and warned me of the misleading signs it was putting across. I had just, after all, ended my relationship with Logan ... jumping into something else, so suddenly ... it just wasn't me and I didn't want to give Tristan that illusion.

Rory Gilmore still had morals. "Erh ..." I stuttered lamely, battling with my inner self. "Thanks ... Do you ... maybe ... want to-" Before I could finish, a voice hollered loud and clear. I instantly recognized an outspoken Australian accent.

"Love!" Finn's voice bounced off walls and echoed eerily, the house music acting as a back drop to the musicality in his voice. Finn's lengthy black hair was pulled back into a signature ponytail, a scotch glass cozily resting in his palm. His whole demeanor was disheveled and I couldn't help but snicker at his persona. Finnegan was a rare specimen. "Where have you and Huntz been? The wedding ended hours ago!"

"Ah!" I gasped mockingly, my hands flying to cover my mouth. "Look, Tristan ... It's Spencer Tracy!" Finn just laughed his large arm swinging across my shoulders. "Finn, I think we need to get you home-"

"I am home, Gilmore, home is where you are ..." Finn tried to kiss my cheek but I edged away from him and closer into the arms of Tristan who just stared at my interaction with Finn with an amused grin on his face. All Tristan needed was a bowl of popcorn and he wouldn't need to pay for cable tonight. "But, I don't think your boyfriend would like me bunking with you tonight so, I guess home would be good ... Colin!" Finn yelled for Colin - rather close to my ear - and I winced; my ear drums ringing.

"Boyfriend?" Tristan gripped my biceps, his eyes staring me down. "You're seeing somebody?"

"No!" I quickly added in before I could stop myself.

"No?" Finn looked at me utterly confused. Even though Finn was dangerously drunk, he was still sober enough to be interested by my outburst. After all, Logan didn't have the time to inform his friends of what had occurred between us earlier on in the day, not with Honour's wedding and dinner with Tristan's family. "Does Logan know about this? Because I swear you two were-" Finn whistled as he rocked back on fourth of his heels - he was indicating to mine and Logan's sex life and I blushed, looking down at my feet.

"Logan?" Tristan's hands dropped from where they were planted on my arms, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of its element. I could all most see the gears turning in his head and the steam filtering out his ears; Tristan was trying to come up with a reasonable explanation for our circumstance but seemingly enough, he couldn't think of one. My predicament was just as complicated as it seemed. There was no loop hole.

"Logan." I sighed, looking directly at Tristan. Tristan just stared back coldly at me.

I had a lot of explaining to do.


End file.
